


all you need to know is

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Canon Compliant, Daddy Kink, Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:55:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21514699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Anonymous asked: soft daddy Louis when Harry's had a long/bad day! just wants to make his baby feel good!
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 12
Kudos: 167





	all you need to know is

**Author's Note:**

> due to popular demand—originally posted, like, two years ago :-)  


Louis’s got a bad habit of falling asleep on the sofa — to be fair, it’s a _great _sofa — and, consequently, spends a lot of time getting an earful over how awful it is for his back, as if Harry’s _not _twenty-three going on eighty.

Which is why it’s a bit strange when, rather than being prodded at unceremoniously, Louis awakens to Harry spilling into the tiny space between Louis’s body and the edge of the seat cushion, carefully arranging himself to fit. His arms slide around Louis’s middle, and Louis chuckles as he ducks his chin, buries his nose into Harry’s hair and inhales shampoo and summer-musk.

“You’ll fall, love,” Louis murmurs, even as he winds an arm over Harry and shifts farther back into the couch, tugging Harry in closer. Harry only hums disinterestedly and tilts his chin up with a languid blink.

“Can I have a kiss, Daddy?” he asks. Louis obliges, soft-lipped and easy, brushing his knuckles over Harry’s cheek. He’s been Daddyfor years now, but it never stops feeling like a gift, like something he needs to keep safe and secure behind his heart, because Harry’s trusted him to do so.

Eventually, Louis tugs Harry’s head back with his fingers wound into his hair. His brow furrows.

_I’ve got a sixth sense for these things_, Louis’s joked, _always know when my Hazza needs me. My baby._

“Something on your mind, darling?” Louis asks.

It takes Harry a moment to reply. “No,” he says. “I mean — not really, it’s just — just been a long one, is all.” His voice is quiet, all-honey in a way that’s particularly familiar; he always gets so sweet. Louis’s grip tightens in Harry’s hair, and he guides him back in, lets Harry put his mouth on the crook of his neck.

The thing is that Louis’s often running his mouth, but he never feels like he _needs _to with Harry (although he usually does anyway, and Harry seems to love him all the more for it). So they lie there, silent, Harry’s thigh inching between Louis’s knees as he burrows in — both because he’s still teetering off the edge of the sofa and because Harry’s instinct has always been this: to curl in close, to want to tuck himself under Louis’s skin.

Harry has already slid low enough to be able to press his nose against Louis’s collarbone, and his breath is warm and damp on Louis’s skin.

“You know you won’t get any smaller no matter how much you try, don’t you?” Louis points out.

He resists the urge to kiss away the little wrinkle in between Harry’s brows when he lifts his head with a pout. Instead, Louis snorts, unable to help his smirk, and lets his palm skirt along the length of Harry’s spine. Reflexively, Harry curves with the gentle pressure.

“I know,” Harry says eventually, actually sounding a little put-out, and he’s just so _ridiculous _all the time, Louis’s so lucky. He ends up leaning in and kissing Harry’s forehead anyway.

Harry begins to shift the longer Louis palms over his back, indulgent touches he sweeps underneath Harry’s shirt and against his bare skin.

“Feel good?” Louis asks.

“Yeah,” Harry breathes. “Could you — Daddy, please?”

It’s a low, aimless plea, like Harry’s getting to that place where he wants Louis to… to _guide _him, to take care of him, so Harry can let himself go and just _feel_, unapologetically, because he knows Louis would never want him to be sorry for it. Louis swallows hard and ducks in, nosing at Harry’s hairline as his fingertips edge under Harry’s waistband.

“Please, what?” Louis asks, fingers curling against Harry’s tailbone, which he pets gently. Harry visibly shivers and makes a sort of grumbling noise that has Louis giggling.

He likes to keep Harry talking when he doesn’t want Harry to get lost in his own head, and besides, Harry’s always been a bit embarrassed about making his desires heard when he’s this way — when he’s Louis’s _baby_ — and there’s something hot about watching him squirm, the way his voice crests into something airy, how he trips over his words when they feel too dirty for how gentle Daddy’s being with him. He wants to know Harry’s still with him, wants to make sure he’s all right with everything.

Demanding Harry be candid serves… more than one purpose, Louis supposes, pulling his hand out of the back of Harry’s jeans and nudging Harry’s jaw upward. Harry’s sort of smiling, and it only widens as Louis thumbs back and forth over his whiskery little chin.

“I love hearing you laugh,” Harry says. “I miss it all the time.”

And Louis _knows_, of course, but just then Harry says it in that hushed, fragile voice, and it’s so obvious so suddenly that Harry’s been worked to the bone, so Louis wilts fondly and has to draw Harry in for another kiss.

Before he can ask again, or even pull away properly, Harry pipes up, “Finger me?” and then, teeth snagging on the corner of his lip, still grinning and kissed breathless, he continues, “Please? That’s what I want.”

“That’s all?” Louis teases. “You’re usually a bit bossier than that, aren’t you?”

“Usually,” Harry agrees. He slides his arms out from around Louis’s body and kneads pointedly at his waist. “But not right now.”

With a bemused hum that earns him a swat, Louis manages to untangle himself from Harry, who seems very keen on not letting him do so and sighs, disgruntled and altogether unhelpful as Louis clambers off the couch clumsily, nearly dragging the both of them to the ground in the process. It’s just that he knows that if he lets Harry get all — all _worked up_, then they’ll never get off the couch at all, and there’ll probably be _so _many stains they’ll need to deal with later. The poor thing has taken enough of a beating already and anyway, Louis wants Harry on _their _bed, wants him gasping, wants to be able to smooth his hands over the creases in the sheets where Harry had bunched his fingers in an effort to keep himself anchored in the throes of sensation the way he always does.

Belatedly, Louis realizes that he’s just been standing over Harry, transfixed by his lip trapped under his teeth, his faint smile lines, the fronds of his eyelashes and his half-lidded, fully amused eyes.

“Come on,” Louis says, grinning, knowing he’s been caught. Harry reaches up and Louis catches his hand, leans over to kiss his fingertips. “Let’s go to bed, baby.”

Harry pulls a face as he heaves himself off the couch, tottering into Louis with a breathless laugh and swooping in for a kiss when Louis’s hands find his waist. From there, it’s a matter of hauling Harry to the bedroom without getting distracted by Harry’s wandering hands, his obscene mouth.

“Daddy,” Harry gasps as he flops gracelessly onto the bed, his legs still hanging off the edge so Louis can stand in between his knees. Louis stoops over and runs his hands along the sides of Harry’s thighs and Harry wriggles under his touch, reaching down to unzip his jeans and shove them down along with his briefs, shamelessly eager.

Louis is mostly just stunned by him, even after all this time; how easily Harry puts himself in Louis’s hands, settles under them, and he says as much as he rolls Harry’s jeans down the rest of the way.

Or — he tries, anyway. Louis considers himself _somewhat _eloquent, but Harry’s got the worst effect on Louis’s, like, ability to form coherent thoughts. He’d left Louis nearly starstruck the first time they’d met, even, and to this day Louis cannot possibly understand how he’d charmed Harry into… anything, really, let alone into loving Louis as ardently as he does.

So Louis ends up murmuring, “Wow,” and that’s about all he can manage as Harry’s mouth curves into a shy grin and his thighs splay open, the space in between them wide and inviting.

“Touch me,” Harry says, rucking his shirt up his belly and slipping a few fingers underneath to pinch at his own nipple. Louis is very capable of being patient if the situation calls for it, much to Harry’s put-upon dismay, but he’s not sure he has it in him tonight, not when Harry’s lips are already bitten bright and the pale jut of his hip is practically begging for Louis’s mouth.

“Of course,” Louis says, swallowing hard as he climbs up in between Harry’s legs. “Love touching you, baby, you feel so good.”

He bends to kiss Harry deeply, and Harry props his heels up on the edge of the bed, trapping Louis in between his knees.

The last Louis checked they were running low on lube, so he prays and prays that Harry’d actually remembered to buy a new bottle like he’d said he would. The to-do lists Harry emails to himself, Louis thinks, are probably fascinating.

Thankfully, they also seem to be fairly effective, because Louis _does_ find a full bottle in the drawer. It’s not unopened.

“Did you play with yourself when Daddy wasn’t here?” Louis asks, repositioning himself in between Harry’s legs. He leans in and bites Harry’s earlobe, which _always _makes Harry whine loudly, a sound that’s fucking addictive. Louis’ll never get tired of having this effect on Harry.

“Maybe,” Harry replies coyly. “But you didn’t — _oh _— you never said I couldn’t, Daddy. I was still good — still your good boy.” Harry stumbles over his words when Louis’s slick fingertips slide up in between his cheeks, stroking at his rim. Louis loves this best, feeling _inside _of Harry, it seems like such a private thing to take him apart on just his fingers.

“Is that good?” Louis asks quietly, mouthing at the sharp hinge of Harry’s jaw, his favorite spot, and he smiles into Harry’s skin when he nods. A little louder — more Daddy, maybe — he continues, “You’d probably love a spanking anyway, wouldn’t you?”

Harry neither confirms nor denies that, only moans quietly, hitches his hips up and pushes down against Louis’s fingers, which are barely teasing him open. He always wants to be full, Louis thinks, watching in wonder as Harry rocks back and forth in desperate, stilted motions. He’s always so easy for it. Because he’s feeling kind, Louis eases just his index finger in, and it’s not much, but Harry groans and collapses against the mattress again, spreading his thighs farther apart. It’s like he’s working himself up over the _promise _of more. Louis skims his hand along the strong length of Harry’s thigh, up to his soft hip, squeezing him hard until he shudders and pouts.

“Please, Daddy?” Harry asks, his voice pitched high, hole clenching around Louis’s knuckle. Louis’s fucking him gently, too gently, and when he raises a brow and presses a second finger in alongside the first, Harry stiffens with the urge to move into it.

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” Louis says. He’s only half-joking.

He sweeps his palm over the warm curve of Harry’s belly and then down again, grips him in the crook of his knee and bends him back so he’s exposed, so Louis can watch how Harry’s hole swallows his fingers.

The throaty noise Harry makes when Louis crooks his fingers up against his prostate makes heat pulse down Louis’s spine, and he wants to hear it again, so he grinds up into that spot, smiles sharply as Harry cries out and arches and bucks his hips, his thighs quivering.

“Daddy,” Harry sighs.

Louis drags his fingers out and then works back in with three. Harry’s soft and hot inside and takes it so well, whimpers hungrily, past words as Louis fingerfucks him relentlessly. Louis is torn between drinking in the sight of him and tasting him, because Harry looks _so _good, is the prettiest thing Louis’s ever seen, his sea glass eyes blown wide, the tremble of his muscles under his skin, slippery with sweat, and his hole, rosy and stretched and sucking Louis in. In the end, Louis ducks down and closes his mouth over Harry’s cockhead, and Harry keens urgently, yanking at the sheets as he fucks into Louis’s throat, just once, because he can’t seem to control himself tonight. That’s okay — he’s still Louis’s very best boy.

“Jesus, you’re so — look at you, darling,” Louis whispers as he comes off with a pop, nosing into Harry’s hip and then licking up the crease of Harry’s thigh. The praise seems to get under Harry’s skin; he pushes himself up onto his elbows and plants his feet for leverage and just _pounds himself _down onto Louis’s fingers, his head thrown back, the column of his throat pale and bobbing and irresistible. Louis slinks up Harry’s body and bites him there, just because he wants Harry under his teeth, wants to bury himself into Harry any way he can.

He hooks his fingers up again and Harry seems to find the right angle, one that has him tightening desperately on Louis’s fingers, his breath rasping out of him.

“Fuck, Daddy, yeah, right there, just — just like — shit,” Harry’s babbling. Louis’s kissing his way down now, tonguing at Harry’s nipple so he jolts, chest heaving, letting Harry do all the work and slamming his fingers in every few thrusts. He kisses Harry’s stomach, scraping his teeth over the soft spot under Harry’s navel, and then laves his tongue along the length of Harry’s cock.

Somehow, Louis feels just as overwhelmed, his heart rabbiting the sloppier Harry gets, and when he chokes on a sob, Louis’s stomach twists. He often cries a little when he’s playing with Daddy, can’t stand how good it feels.

“Are you going to come, baby?” Louis asks when Harry stops moving and instead grinds his ass down into the bed, squirming on Louis’s fingers. He’s flushed and his cheeks are tear-sticky and Louis shoves in hard so he can see Harry’s eyes flutter and his mouth part around a sweet gasp.

“I asked you a question,” he says when Harry just grunts.

“Yes,” Harry says. “Yeah, I’m — close. Can I come, Daddy?”

“You can come, yeah.”

And he _does_, loudly, wailing through it several moments later when Louis rubs over his spot and sucks the tip of his cock, hard, practically coaxing the orgasm out of him. Harry goes limp in the aftermath, panting and shaking a little, eyes fixed on Louis.

“You have — you have come in your beard,” Harry says with a breathless giggle, and Louis rolls his eyes, because Harry’s absurd.

“Do I?” he asks dryly. He’s still hard, but taking care of Harry is satisfying in itself, and he wants to cuddle Harry to death more than he wants to get off right now. So he does, stripping down to his underwear and dropping down half on top of Harry, their bare skin sliding together. Harry kisses him hard and reaches to thumb through the come that is, in fact, on his chin, sucking it into his mouth with a crooked smile.

They fold together, then, after sharing a few more kisses, Louis nipping at Harry’s raw lips. Harry settles with his cheek against Louis’s chest, an arm and a leg thrown over Louis’s waist, and Louis’s hand against the base of his spine.

“Best Daddy,” Harry sighs, hardly more than a slurred mumble, pressing his lips to Louis’s collarbone. “Best spouse. Best everything. Everything I need.”

Louis laughs, kissing the top of Harry’s head. “You do say a lot of sappy shit after you get a few fingers up the bum, baby.”

Harry just squeezes Louis tighter and breathes in deep, and Louis can only smile, bright and helpless and adoring in the face of Harry’s sugar-sweetness.


End file.
